


It Takes Two to Tango

by BananaLord



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies), Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, M/M, Minor Character Death, don't worry the life expectancy is better than the movie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 07:50:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10080119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BananaLord/pseuds/BananaLord
Summary: After losing his partner, veteran Jaeger pilot Viktor Nikiforov doesn't want to get back in the cockpit ever again. But his confusing and unfairly adorable new copilot might change that...There's robots, there's romance, there's drunken adventures and canceling the apocalypse... let's do this thing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: Yes, I did change the title. Yes, I know that's not exactly kosher, but I only went with the original because I couldn't think of anything better. Well... I just did.

How bad would it sound to say that the apocalypse was the best thing that ever happened to you?

No, don’t answer that. Point taken. Still, Viktor can’t exactly deny that it’s true. From some kid in Russia to an international celebrity with the coolest job of all time, all thanks to aliens rising from the sea hell-bent on human destruction.

They say everyone remembers where they were when the first kaiju hit. But it happened in the small hours of the morning, St. Petersburg time, so Viktor didn’t even find out until he arrived at school to nothing but frenzied conversations about a giant monster leveling San Francisco. A strange day, needless to say, but nothing life-changing.

What he _does_ remember, vividly, is the first time he saw a Jaeger. Rumors had flown for months that the coalition of nations was building mechas to fight the kaiju – all top secret, of course, but it’s hard to hide the production of enormous killer robots. His father scoffed that the rumors were ridiculous, that nobody would ever pour their defense budget into battle robots instead of planes or nukes. Yet there Viktor was at barely sixteen, crowded around someone’s phone on the concrete steps behind the school at lunchtime on a drizzly Tuesday, watching shaky cell phone video of a mech fighting a kaiju.

By the time the Jaeger had wrestled the kaiju down and blown it to glowing blue oblivion, Viktor knew what he wanted to do with his life. Every other kid on the planet wanted to be a Jaeger pilot too, of course, but every other kid on the planet wasn’t Viktor.

He would later find out that the pilot from that first day had died just a few months later. Something about the neural load of the early Jaegers melting her brain. The rest is classified, so Viktor doesn’t know how literal “melting” is. He’d probably rather not know, either. The newer generation of Jaegers with the dual pilot drift mechanic is supposed to be basically safe, and that’s good enough for him. He’s never had reason to regret it.

 

           

The kaiju slams into their chest hard enough to rattle bolts and teeth. Viktor has done this far too long to register the Jaeger’s pain as his own; he grits his teeth and digs in their heels. They cut a muddy swath through the seabed, letting friction do their work for them. The instant they stop, they strike: a headbutt sends it reeling, and Viktor’s plasma gun is already charged to meet it. Sasha doesn’t even need to speak for Viktor to hear loud and clear, “Let’s light this motherfucker up!”

“With pleasure,” he thinks in reply, and they fire a round straight into its chest. The kaiju howls and recoils, spilling its guts luminescent blue into the waves. Sasha grunts with effort as they close the gap in a leap to deliver a crushing punch with the other arm. The kaiju goes down hard and for a moment all Viktor can see is sea spray, but they can see through Sasha’s senses where it landed. They raise a foot to bring down on its head- and the comm channel sputters open.

“Frost, do you copy?”

“Hi Yakov!” Viktor chirps as merrily as he can while stomping a kaiju’s head into the ground – he’s a bit out of breath. “How can I help-”

“Save it. Something’s happening. We’re getting readings from the Breach like we’ve never seen before. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it’s another kaiju. You’re in too close; retreat to a safe distance and we’ll wait and see what happens.”

“Give us a minute, Yakov. We’ve – almost – got – it,” Sasha grunts. The kaiju’s head makes a wet _crack_ and its limbs thrash.

“You can finish it off from further away,” Yakov snaps impatiently, an edge to his voice that in all these years Viktor has rarely heard, “what’s more important is-”

They never find out what’s more important. The rest of Yakov’s sentence is swallowed by their shouts as something tightens around their ankle and _pulls_. They go down like a cartoon character on a banana peel, landing so hard on their back that the back of Viktor’s helmet bounces off his supports with a metallic _ping_. All he sees is moonlight through water. Then turquoise lights dance across his view and a sinuous shadow blocks out the moon.

“Fuck!” Sasha shouts, verbally and in the drift. _Fuck_ indeed. There’s never been a double event before. Not once.

They’re going to die here, aren’t they.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Sasha growls in Viktor’s head, “We can do this!”

There’s no point lying to someone in your head, but desperation and defiance are as good motivators as anything, Viktor supposes. They move to sit up, to stand, but the weight of what feels like the entire ocean makes it laborious, painfully slow. They raise their plasma cannon – so slow, Goddamn water resistance – but the kaiju is everywhere at once. This thing was made for water; they’ll never match it here.

“Yakov?” Viktor shouts at the comm speaker even though it’s only a foot from his face, “Yakov, there’s-”

“We know. Backup is already on the way. Just get out of there!”

“We’ll try but-” Coils squeeze tight around their chest and Viktor gasps as though it’s his own ribs breaking. They can feel the veins spark and metal skin buckle. They fire wildly, but the shots go wide and a few barely skim the kaiju. It’s up too close. They claw at it instead, writhing on the seafloor. The coils tighten, something creaks, and the first alarm trips. _Warning: something or other_. They don’t have time for that.

They finally get their fingers under it and rip a coil off, push themselves a bit off the seafloor, but then the thing is wrapping itself around their arm and Viktor can hear a sharp intake of breath as it closes around Sasha’s phantom wrist. It’s so tight around their chest that Viktor has to remind himself his own lungs are still free to breathe.

More alarms accompany a sharp crack, and _that_ gets their attention. A jagged crack sprouts up their windshield and Viktor follows it with his eyes until it’s taller than him. Beside him, Sasha grunts in pain again as their arm makes a sound like stepping on a soda can.

Viktor punches the sword button but at the first movement- Teeth snap down on the shoulder, ripping the arm off with sparking mouthful of bare wires. Sasha is screaming and Viktor might be too, he can’t tell, but they’re not rookies. They take the shot without thinking, aim at the pain and pull the trigger. A burst of blue lights up the water and for an instant the coils loosen as the kaiju screeches. An instant is all they need. They’ve tossed the kaiju off with their remaining hand and are halfway up again. When they feel the kaiju’s thin body crushed beneath their foot, they know they’ve won. Their head finally breaks the surface.

Everything shatters. Glass and metal and water and _claws_ and it’s too much, too fast, they can’t keep up with two people’s sensory overload. And now pain. The Jaeger might as well be made of tin foil for how it crumples around their body. But it’s not tin foil when it reaches them, twisting their body and crunching their bones and _it hurts so much_ a woman with snow in her hair _make it stop make it stop_ a dog and a rocking chair _I don’t want to die_ peppermint candy red and white stripes sticky fingers _I’m so sorry_

The silence is louder than anything Viktor has ever heard. His head has gone hollow and his body heavy, as though someone added weights while he wasn’t looking. He looks around, dazed, still half soaked in memories, almost expecting his- no, not his, Sasha’s- mother to step out from behind a twisted girder and offer him a candy cane.

Instead, he mostly just sees the stars. The first kaiju, the one they had almost killed, took out most of their head in a single sweep the moment they broke the surface. There’s only a hole and a hell of a view where there should be panels and machines and... Sasha. Viktor just stares. It doesn’t feel real. That doesn’t even make sense, he was there, he felt Sasha die, didn’t even realize it wasn’t him until he fell out of the drift, but…

“Viktor Nikiforov, you answer me now or I swear to God…!” A familiar voice on the radio snaps him back to reality.

“Y-yes…?” Smooth. He hears a sigh of relief on the other end and Yakov’s breath catch, but he pulls himself together to ask,

“Are you alright?”

“Umm…” Right, quick inventory. Lots of bruises, but nothing worse. He had eaten a lot of shrapnel but his armor seemed to have taken the brunt of it. Something had hit his face hard enough to shatter his visor and his cheek stings, but probably just from the facefull of plexiglass. “I think so? Yakov-”

“Well, that’s good, at least…”

“Yakov-”

“Listen, I know-”

“Yakov!”

A heavy pause, and when Yakov responds it’s with the voice of Marshal Feltsman.

“Reinforcements are almost there. Rendezvous with them. That’s all.”

“Yes sir.” Viktor says automatically, his mind on the controls. Or lack thereof. They aren’t working. The Jaeger, part of him for so long that he considers it part of his body, sits there in the middle of the ocean, solid and unmoving. He might as well be tied to a statue for all the good it does.

“Yakov, I can’t move.” No response.

“Yakov! I can’t… I can’t move!”

“Don’t be an idiot, boy. You can’t control a Jaeger with only one person.”

Viktor can’t see the first kaiju, but it won’t have gone far. Peering through the hhole where most of the cockpit used to be, he can see the second kaiju’s lights make eerie turquoise swirls beneath the sea as it circled, watching. Waiting.

“Yakov, what do I-”

“I’m sorry, Vitya. There’s nothing I can do.” He hears a beep as the comm channel closes.

Well.

OK, then. 

He just has to think logically. _Yeah, because that’s always been your strong suit_ , he can practically hear Sasha’s voice snort in his head. He tries to nervously run a hand through his hair and encounters his helmet instead. OK, the biggest problem: the missing kaiju. At least he can see the one in the water, circling like a shark that tasted blood. Maybe it _is_ a shark; Viktor hadn’t gotten a good look at it. But surely a shark couldn’t be that long and squiggly, and- no, fuck sharks, this is not a productive train of thought.

It’s still circling. Maybe if he just stays very still, they’ll think he’s dead?

Real good plan. Just do nothing.

The kaiju’s lights have left blue-white streaks across his vision. He tries to blink them away, squinting into the darkness for a hint of movement, a shadow, anything.

He feels the pressure on his ankle, but only vaguely, just a few rogue bits of feedback making it through the interface. The one in the water nips, gently, almost cautiously. Viktor can still see ripples of glowing blue on the waves, trailing from its headshot wound, and his stomach drops as he realizes: it’s checking his pulse. And it’s getting no response.

It goes in for the kill.

Viktor can feel the impact in his chest as it leaps out of the water and slams directly into the Jaeger’s core. He throws all his weight on the controls, reaches out with his mind for the neural connection; nothing. Unable to move, to brace his limbs, he topples over backwards.

Icy seawater slaps him in the face. Shit, he’d forgotten the cockpit was more hole than substance. Forget the kaiju trying to rip his Jaeger’s heart out; he’s going to drown unless he can get – this – thing – to – move!

It does. In one smooth motion, the Jaeger sits up, the kaiju sliding off its chest, and water pours out of the ruined cockpit as it surfaces. Viktor experiences what feels distinctly like a surgeon taking twin scalpels to both hemispheres of his brain, the pain so sharp and jarring that for a moment it blinds him. For some reason, his nose has gone stuffy. He has no idea what just happened, but he is not going to look a gift horse in the… face? Mouth? How does that saying go again?

A brief burst of static announces Yakov.

“Stop. Toxic Spear is nearly there to intercept. Just stay where you are. Don’t move.”

“I couldn’t even if I…” he trails off, thinking. Tentatively, he tries the controls again, but receives no response. What-

The other kaiju grabs him from behind and plunges its claws into the Jaeger’s chest. Viktor is suddenly glad he’s lost his connection; he can feel the tingle of phantom claws on his ribs even with just a few scattered synapses firing. But on the other hand, he’s about to die. Viktor flings himself at the mental wall, the one that never used to be there before with Sasha. The kaiju rips out a fistful of metal innards that looses enough sparks to light up the sky. Much longer, and there won’t be any Jaeger left to drift with. He angles vaguely for the direction the sudden pain had come from.

He connects. It’s a rough connection, more like sticking a rusty fork into an outlet than the usual clean rush of electricity, but the Jaeger is his again.

It’s all wrong. He feels like his blood has been replaced with lead. Even just moving an arm might as well be moving the entire ocean. His vision blurs and a hot foggy pain radiates throughout his skull. He feels like that poor kid in training who’d been plugged into a sim when a power surge hit.

That kid had died.

Viktor is going to die anyway though, so he pushes through it. He backhands the kaiju while his gun charges up, sending it reeling backwards a few paces. The other kaiju surfaces and takes a bite out of his shoulder, but he slaps it aside. The first one, the one with the claws, charges, but he raises his gun to meet it-

The world stutters, as though a few seconds passed when he blinked, and it’s on top of him, knocking him backwards into the water. Disoriented, but no time to think about it, he presses the plasma cannon right into its side and empties his clip. So much glowing blue blood splatters into the waves that for a moment the sea lights up like a swimming pool in the darkness. The kaiju slumps onto him, but he rolls its body off, searches for the other one.

It’s faster than him. Before he can move, before he even registers, it wraps itself around his wrist, immobilizing his only way of defending himself. It levels its head with his, half its teeth blown off but the rest no less deadly. Then it explodes.

Viktor blinks rapidly, looking around in confusion. A smoky halo drifts where its head was like the residue from a missile strike, but then its lifeless body flops back into the water and all he sees is sea spray. He thinks he hears something familiar from among the muddled din of noises he’s tuning out, but when he tries to defog his brain enough to sort them, he falls out of the drift. Everything rushes in loud and he slumps over, glad of the supports holding his weight. His head is pounding and it feels like his nose is dripping. Yakov; the sound he tried to pick out, it’s Yakov, calling his name in increasing distress.

“I’m here,” Viktor answers, surprised how shaky his voice sounds.

“Thank God. Are you alright?” Yakov demands.

“My head hurts,” he replies bluntly, “What’s going on?”

“Toxic Spear is within firing range and covering you. Stay put, they’ll come and get you.” Yakov pauses. “And Vitya, don’t ever do that again.”

“Sure, sure,” Viktor answers vaguely. The metal restraints are cutting into his skin and he figures he’s not going to control the Jaeger again anyway, so he releases the restraints. Not particularly surprisingly, his legs give out and he falls to his knees, palms smacking hard against the metal floor. He hopes Yakov didn’t hear that.

There’s a fresh splatter of blood on the floor between his outstretched hands. He sits back and tentatively raises two fingers to his face. They come back smeared scarlet.

“I think my nose is bleeding.” He hadn’t intended to say that out loud. It’s a stupid thing to say and Yakov is going to yell at him. Instead, Yakov just says,

“I’m not surprised,” a strangely unreadable tone in his voice. Viktor is far too exhausted to try and parse what _that’s_ about. He wants to curl up right there on the floor and sleep for a few decades at least. Instead, he grabs the nearest intact console and drags himself to his feet.

At least Chris has the decency not to say anything weird, for the first and probably last time in his life. Viktor barely remembers the ride back to the base. Nothing feels real. It doesn’t start to sink in until he stumbles out of the cockpit to find Yakov waiting for him. He expects a lecture on how badly he’s fucked everything up, but instead, Yakov pulls him under his own umbrella and puts a protective arm around his shoulder. Viktor throws his arms around Yakov and sobs onto his shoulder right there on the runway. Yakov splutters something about people watching and marshals commanding respect, but Viktor doesn’t care.

 

 

Yakov, out of the boundless kindness of his heart, gives Viktor six months. Then it’s inevitable; the frequency of attacks keeps rising, and there have been two more double events. The first took almost the entire Chinese team to deal with, and with heavy casualties, and the second leveled half of Manila before being taken down at the cost of a pilot only slightly less senior than Viktor. That one stung a bit. Anya was… well, let’s just say there were people Viktor would have missed more, but she was still a friend, more or less. He doesn’t have enough of those to be picky.

So when Yakov calls Viktor to his office and announces that it’s time for a new copilot, it doesn’t exactly come as a surprise. And it’s not that Viktor doesn’t want to get back in the cockpit; piloting a Jaeger is what he was born to do, the only thing he’s ever been good at. Something deep in his chest aches every time he watches the other pilots suit up without him. He dreams about it, more often than not. But, still… Drifting, living in someone’s head, it’s so _intimate_. Not the kind of thing you want to do with a stranger.

He says as much. This is a losing battle, but he’s going to fight it anyway.

“You really think this is going to work? That we can just replace Sasha with some random kid right out of basic?”

Yakov doesn’t take the guilt-trip bait.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Drift compatibility isn’t that rare, especially with experienced pilots. Baranovskaya has picked out the top candidates from all over the world. It might not be perfect, but you’ll find someone.”

“And what if I don’t want to?”

Yakov fixes him with an impressively unimpressed glare that has Viktor cringing internally, but he holds his gaze.

“The walls are behind schedule. They can always use an extra pair of hands.” Ouch. “Or, if you’re sure that’s what you want, you can always retire. God knows it would save me a lot of trouble. It’s been a while since you’ve seen your family, hasn’t it?”

That’s an even bigger slap in the face. Viktor’s family hasn’t contacted him in years, either because they’re all dead or because they’ve just stopped caring. A little digging through records and he could easily find out – the benefits of an uncommon surname – but he’s never tried. Some things are probably best left unknown.

“Wow, with such enticing offers, how will I ever choose?” He turns on his heel and quickly stalks out of the room before Yakov can get a word in. Nothing ruins a dramatic exit like being officially dismissed first. Viktor knows from experience.

 

Apparently the test for drift compatibility involves fighting kids with sticks. Something about it being a conversation, although Viktor doesn’t see why they don’t just have an actual conversation, then.

The potential copilots file into the training room and Viktor flashes them a trademark smile and waves. Several share unsure looks, and one hesitantly waves back before her friend slaps her hand down. Viktor spent most of breakfast listening to Mila and Sara (and briefly Chris, before the conversation was immediately tabled) discussing which of the candidates was the best looking, but besides offering a few noncommittal responses when prompted, he hasn’t had a chance to really look at them.

He’s not sure what he expected. Fireworks going off, drift compatibility at first sight? No, just uniformed kids from fresh-faced teenagers to twentysomethings, their demeanor ranging from bored to terrified. Most either stare at him or determinedly _don’t_ stare at him. He keeps his face pleasant, impassive, unreadable.

One of the candidates actually rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet and punches his neighbor’s shoulder, gesturing excitedly at Viktor. The other boy hastily shushes his friend, blushing, and doesn’t meet Viktor’s eye.

“It looks like we have a volunteer to go first,” Major General Baranovskaya cuts across the murmur, instantly silencing the room, “Chulanont!” She gestures with her eyes towards where Viktor waits in the center of the circle. The excited boy looks abashed at the sudden attention, but he flashes his friend a last grin and hops into the ring.

He tilts his head questioningly at Viktor, but Viktor takes one hand off his wooden staff and gestures politely. _You first_. He can see Chulanont readjust his grip, gearing up for an overhand swing, and then it’s over. Chulanont steps forward, swings, Viktor sidesteps, lunges, hits.

It’s best of five, but Viktor wins in three. That pretty much sets the tone for the rest of the exercise.

The change of pace finally comes a little more than halfway through. When Baranovskaya calls the next candidate’s name, he blushes scarlet, looks around as though considering bolting, then fumbles handing his glasses to his friend – the kid who went first – before stepping into the center, gaze fixed firmly on the tatami. Viktor considers making a quip about his eyes being up here, but the kid (Viktor has long since stopped paying attention to the trainees’ names) already looks like he might combust. Viktor waits a few seconds, but the kid just swallows, overcorrects his position, and looks anywhere but at Viktor, so finally Viktor makes the first move.

The kid blocks, textbook and pure muscle memory, and Viktor easily flicks the kid’s staff aside and scores a hit. They make eye contact, and Viktor sees the kid’s eyes widen before he steps back out of Viktor’s personal space so quickly he stumbles over his own feet.

At least the kid makes the first move the next round, launching himself forward almost before Viktor has a chance to react. Almost. Viktor goes for a parry, but the kid twists out of the way and his staff is inches from Viktor’s head by the time Viktor can get his staff up to block. He knocks the kid off balance with a sudden shove and swipes under his outstretched arms to- whoops, that’s going to bruise.

“Sorry. Are you OK?” Of course he is, it was just a smack to the abdomen, albeit quite a bit harder than necessary, but it would be rude not to ask. The kid nods, rubbing a few circles into his side before stepping back into position. He doesn’t make any movements, just stands there, completely still except for measured breathing.

After a few moments, Viktor goes on the offensive. In one smooth move, the kid dodges and raises his staff to block Viktor’s second attack as though they’re performing a choreographed routine. Viktor switches to a defensive stance and blocks the attack he knows is coming, but when he tries to parry, the kid sidesteps to Viktor’s left, right into a blind spot where all Viktor can see is his hair over his face. He whips around, raising his staff to block whatever is coming, picks the right spot by sheer luck. He sees the kid’s next move coming and spreads his hands wide to brace his staff as the kid shoves hard, trying to overbalance him, but Viktor is taller and heavier and probably stronger. He twists his staff downward, sliding the kid’s off, and goes in for a thrust- and something catches his ankle and he falls flat on his ass.

He almost laughs in surprise. His awareness of the rest of his body had slipped in his concentration and the kid had tripped him. The kid’s staff is pointed down Viktor’s nose so that he briefly goes cross-eyed, then looks up. The kid stares down at him with a mischievous, smug smile. Viktor narrows his eyes, quirking an eyebrow. This has turned out more fun than he thought. He can’t help smiling back as he climbs to his feet. For a moment, their eyes meet, and neither looks away.

The next round lasts so long Viktor can barely catch his breath. It’s like they’ve been sparring partners for years; he can sense the kid’s next moves, and if how hard he has to fight to keep up is any indication, the feeling is mutual. It’s bizarre, but exhilarating.

Viktor wins, but only just. The kid (Viktor regrets not bothering with his name, now) knocks Viktor stumbling, but he turns it to his advantage and with the element of surprise sweeps the kid’s legs out from under him. The stubborn kid takes Viktor down with him, and Viktor has to tip sideways to avoid falling on top of his opponent like in a cheesy movie and catches most of his weight on one elbow. Looks like they’ll both take a nice bruise home as a keepsake. Viktor finds he doesn’t mind.

There’s a smattering of applause and a few impressed whistles from the onlookers, and Baranovskaya calls out “3 to 1”. Suddenly, he half wishes he had thrown the fight. As he pants and picks himself up off the floor, he can’t keep the smile off his face.

He offers a hand to help the kid up. As soon as their hands interlock, the kid goes scarlet again, and rushes back into line as soon as he scrambles to his feet. Viktor cocks his head at the kid’s receding back. He’d thought they were having fun.

Everyone giggles as the kid’s friend says the world’s loudest whisper, “Holy shit, dude!”

 

Officially, Viktor won’t find out who his new copilot is until the meeting at 1400, but he’s not stupid. A few other candidates managed to briefly go toe to toe with him or score hits, but he attributes that more to the fact that Baranovskaya wouldn’t let him take a breather than to any special talent on their part. He has someone send him the kid’s personnel file, if for no other reason than so he doesn’t have to admit he’s already forgotten his future copilot’s name. Also, casually perusing classified files over lunch adds an air of cool authority, and when you’re eating canned spaghetti off a cafeteria tray surrounded by giggling girls (and Chris) rating stranger’s butts, you need all the help you can get.

 _Yuuri Katsuki_. Viktor tries to run his tongue over the sounds, but he isn’t sure how to pronounce two U’s in a row. Wouldn’t it be a funny coincidence if it were the same as Yuri’s name? _23 years old_. At least he’s not stuck with someone Yuri’s _age_ , thank God. Other than that, the dossier is frustratingly sparse. He’s from Japan, some town Viktor has never heard of, but in the Jaeger program via the US military, and that’s about it. Viktor hadn’t exactly expected the official records to have information like favorite color or romantic history, but he still can’t help feel a little disappointed. He’ll just have to ask himself, then. Those are probably the kind of thing you want to find out _before_ you share a brain with someone, right?

“Well, Viktor?” He looks up to find Chris and several others looking at him expectantly.

“Hm?”

“You’re the one whose opinion really matters. What do you think of the new kids? Anyone _special_?” Chris flutters his eyelashes with an angelic smile. Viktor just returns his best paparazzi smile and a shrug. This is going to be his life now, isn’t it. Drift compatible pairs always end up in love, one way or another; whether familial, like Sara and Mickey, or romantic, like… basically everyone else. Viktor and Sasha had been a rarity; you could call it unconditional love if you liked, but definitely platonic. Chris is not letting him off so easily this time around.

“Really, nobody caught your eye?”

“Nobody with a hot butt?” Mila chimes in, smirking, and Sara dissolves into giggles.

“I can’t say I was paying attention,” says Viktor, craning his neck to look at the trainees grouped up towards the other end of the mess hall.

He locks eyes with Yuuri. Viktor waves, but Yuuri blushes scarlet and turns back to his food, eyes downcast. Strange.

“Who was that?” Chris asks.

Viktor should probably keep this on the down low. It’s not official yet – they haven’t even properly met – and would unleash a firestorm of mostly salacious gossip. Best just to say that Yuuri is some trainee who Viktor caught staring at him, which is technically not a lie.

Instead of doing that, Viktor says,

“You’ll see,” with a wink and a smile, then he leans back in his chair and returns to the file, even though he’s read it twice now, ignoring the rush of questions from around the table. He’s able to enjoy the satisfaction for about two minutes before Yuri slingshots a well-aimed forkful of spaghetti directly into the file and Viktor jumps up to whack him over the head with the folder as everybody laughs. He really hopes Yuuri wasn’t watching _that_.

 

 

Yuuri and Yakov are there already when Viktor arrives, three minutes past the hour. In the military, fashionably late usually just gets you in trouble – the trick is to be close enough to on time that it’s not worth the effort. Viktor has perfected this art over the years. It annoys the hell out of Yakov; Viktor has perfected this art as well.

After a brief introduction made awkward by the fact that both of them are pretending they don’t already know who the other is, Viktor proceeds to ignore the briefing in favor of watching Yuuri.

His name _is_ pronounced the same as Yuri’s, it turns out, at least when Viktor says it. It’s too sharp on his tongue, nothing like how fluid it sounds when Yuuri says it. Everything Yuuri says sounds like that; he speaks English with a slight accent that softens corners of his words. Up close, his eyes are wide and brown behind his oversized ‘sexy nerd’-style glasses. The tips of his dark hair fall just shy of into his eyes, and every now and then he nervously brushes them aside. He is, in a word, adorable. And he still won’t meet Viktor’s eye.

“Is that clear?”

“Yes sir!” Yuuri says. Viktor nods. He has no idea what Yakov just said. It probably wasn’t important. Hopefully.

At Yakov’s dismissal, Yuuri bolts as fast as he can in front of his commanding officer, so Viktor has to jog a few paces to catch up to him in the hallway. Yuuri frowns and tries to look fascinated by the mottled expanse of metal corridor. Viktor considers himself a generally likeable person, and besides, they’ve exchanged a total of about ten words, so what reason does Yuuri have to avoid him?

Maybe he’s just shy. Viktor forges on.

“Hey, wait for me! Don’t you want to talk?”

“Um, what do you want to talk about?” Yuuri replies nervously, casting a sideways glance towards Viktor and hastily averting his eyes.

“We should get to know each other. Tell me everything about you!” Yuuri finally turns to look at Viktor, but he mostly just looks dumbfounded. After a moment, apparently realizing Viktor is serious, he starts,

“Well, I’m 23, I’m from Japan…”

“No, no, I know all that. What else? What about your family or your friends? Are you dating anyone? Has anyone close to you ever died? No tragic past?”

“Why are you asking me this?!” Finally, an emotion other than blushing shyness. That’s something, at least.

“We’re going to be in each other’s brains. We might as well get this stuff out of the way now so it doesn’t come as a nasty surprise.”

“Oh,” Yuuri falls silent. Viktor lets him mull it over. Then, with a deep breath, Yuuri says,

“I don’t think we should do this.”

“What?”

“There’s probably been some mistake. I’m not- I shouldn’t- with you-”

“What do you mean? We _are_ drift compatible, you must have felt it. It felt like-” Viktor cuts off. Like what? Like sparring with his dead best friend again? He does his best showy sorrowful sigh and says,

“Do you not like me, is that it?”

Yuuri’s eyes go huge.

“No, no! No, of course not- I mean, no, not ‘no, I don’t like you’ - ‘no, I don’t _not_ like you’, I mean-” Yuuri stops to take a breath and resumes in a small voice, “I don’t… want to drift with you. For you to- to see in my head.”

“Oh, I see,” Fair enough. “To be perfectly honest, I don’t want to drift with you either.”

“O-oh…” Yuuri’s gaze drops to the floor, his expression strangely crestfallen. “Of course you don’t, why would you ever want- …I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for? It’s not your fault. I didn’t want to do this at all – it’s not that I don’t want to pilot anymore, but I’ve never done it with anyone but Sasha. I like you, but we’ve only just met. It’s going to be weird.”

“Y-you do?” Yuuri looks up at him, eyes wide.

“Hm? I do what?”

“Oh, uh, nothing… I’m- I’m sorry. About… Sasha.”

“It’s fine,” It’s not fine, but what are you going to do? “Well, at least we feel the same. Let’s just try to make the best of this, OK? Who know, maybe it will be amazing!” Here’s hoping.

“Y-yeah…” says Yuuri with a tiny smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. The silence stretches on too long.

“Do you want to see Frost Tango?” Viktor asks, and it’s like he’s flipped a switch. Yuuri lights up from head to toe, eyes sparkling, almost bouncing on the balls of his feet like an excited puppy.

“Really?”

 

Yuuri looks like Viktor’s presence is the only thing stopping him from pressing his nose up against the viewing room glass. His smile practically radiates. If he looks like that every time he sees Frost, Viktor could do this forever.

“Enjoying the view?” Viktor asks after he figures he’s spent too long watching Yuuri. _He’s_ certainly enjoying the view.

“Yeah!” It’s the first genuine enthusiasm Viktor has wheedled out of Yuuri, and it’s intoxicating. “I can’t believe I’m actually getting to see her in real life!”

“Wait ‘til you get inside! She’s a little on the older side, but she drives amazing.” Somewhere midsentence, he’s switched from cheery to yearning.

“About that…” Yuuri gulps, and Viktor has a feeling he knows where this is going even before Yuuri manages to stammer out, “I- I really don’t think- I can’t drift with you.”

“Can you at least tell me why not?” Viktor sighs.

“It’s not that I don’t want to- well, I guess it is, sort of, but- …it’s not because I don’t like you or anything! It doesn’t have anything to do with you, actually, it’s-”

“‘It’s not you, it’s me?’” Viktor says drily. Yuuri cringes at the cliché, but eventually nods.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “You’ve been so nice, and I’m causing you all this trouble and...” Viktor knows he should save Yuuri from floundering, but for once he’s honestly stumped as to what to say. Before he has a chance to come up with something, Yuuri turns and flees the room without another word. This time, Viktor lets him go.

 

Yuuri doesn’t show up for dinner, which is doubly unfortunate, as Viktor wanted to introduce him to the rest of the pilots, and because it leaves Viktor fielding endless questions he can no longer confidently answer. Later that evening, he watches through the peephole in his door as Yuuri moves in just down the hall, making a mental note of his room number. Yuuri’s friend from earlier helps him carry his things, but it seems more a symbolic gesture; he doesn’t have much to move.

 

When Yuuri fails to show up for breakfast too, Viktor scarfs down his suspect croissant and goes in search. It doesn’t take long; maybe it’s luck, maybe it’s drift compatibility, but Viktor has a hunch and it turns out right.

He finds Yuuri perched on a desk in the viewing room, nibbling on another of the mess hall’s dubious pastries. At the sound of the door clicking shut, he startles so hard half his coffee slops onto the floor.

“Ah, sorry!” Viktor says, “Mind if I join you?” Yuuri nods slightly, clutching his coffee tightly and not quite meeting Viktor’s eyes. Viktor balances himself on the edge of the desk and follows Yuuri’s gaze through the picture window. A few workers on a crane tune up something or other, but otherwise Frost Tango looks as clean as the day Viktor and Sasha took her out for her first spin.

He’d rather not think about the tightness in his chest at that, so he looks at Yuuri instead. Viktor is no authority on Yuuri’s face (yet) but he doesn’t think those dark circles under his eyes were there yesterday. Viktor didn’t sleep the night before his first time in a Jaeger either, but he’s almost certain that in Yuuri’s case it wasn’t from excitement. Yuuri bites into his croissant and makes a face.

“Terrible, huh?”

“What? Oh, it’s… it’s not so bad,” Yuuri tries valiantly, “I know I shouldn’t complain, but…”

“Feel free to complain. We all do. Constantly.” That gets a tiny smile. “You’d think that the people out on the front lines protecting humanity would get decent breakfast, but, tragically, no.”

“It’s better than basic, at least. The only bread we ever get- got- was a plain roll with dinner sometimes.”

“Wow. I feel sorry for all of you,” says Viktor. Yuuri shrugs.

“I didn’t mind too much. We don’t usually eat bread with meals in Japan, so it never bothered me.”

“What’s it like there?” Viktor asks. His knowledge of Japan extends to a military base in Okinawa and a near-death experience in the ruins of Tokyo.

“I’m from a little town on the coast,” Yuuri begins, and Viktor suddenly regrets this line of questioning.

“Oh.”

“No, no!” Yuuri hastens to add, “It’s on the east coast… near Fukuoka, if you know where that is?” Viktor shakes his head. “Well, it’s on the coast that faces towards Korea and China, so it’s not in much danger.”

Viktor forgets most of what Yuuri says about his hometown – something about beaches, hot springs, ninja castles (at which Viktor completely derails the conversation because, no matter how much Yuuri tries to explain that they’re fake and really not that interesting, _ninja castles_ ) – in favor of watching the way Yuuri’s voice goes expressive, his cheeks tinge pink, and his eyes sparkle when he talks about home, looking out at invisible castles in the middle distance.

“If you really want,” Viktor says slowly when the conversation has faded out, “I might be able to convince Ya- ah, Marshal Feltsman not to do this. I’ll tell him I don’t feel ready, or I don’t like you or- or- I’ll make _something_ up.” He is objectively a terrible liar, but he gets what he wants from Yakov more often than not.

“No, it’s OK,” says Yuuri quietly, “Thank you, but… you don’t have to do that. I’m just being…” he can’t find the word and shakes his head.

“You said you didn’t want me seeing into your head, right? Bad memories?”

“Ah… well…” Yuuri fidgets with his coffee cup, twisting it around in his hands.

“Don’t worry about it. Lots of people have that problem. Do you know what ‘chasing the rabbit’ means?” Yuuri looks up, eyebrows knitted together, then shakes his head.

“RABIT stands for… well, actually, I don’t remember, but anyway, it’s what we call it when someone gets lost in their bad memories while drifting. You forget it’s not real. It’s not uncommon with new pilots.”

“Oh, well… I don’t think I’ll have a problem with that…”

“Really? Why not?”

“Um… We’re going to be late! We should head out!” Yuuri hops off the desk and heads hastily for the door. Viktor doesn’t push at the clumsy attempt to change the subject. He’ll find out soon, anyway.

 

Yuuri’s excitement at being inside Frost Tango dims as Viktor gives him the tour. In hindsight, Viktor can see why Yuuri might have been put off by the Cutting Edge Military Technology That is Definitely Not a Walkie-Talkie (“in case we lose contact with the base, we’ll still have short range communication with other Jaegers”), the engine hatch (“don’t mess with anything down there, the hatch is only up here because that’s where the manual self-destruct terminal is”), and the plasma rifles (“they won’t actually do anything to a kaiju except annoy it; they’re just there so that if everything goes to hell, you can at least feel like you’re going down fighting”).

For his part, Viktor is just uncomfortably aware that the last time he was here, he watched his best friend die.

 

They fail the neural handshake the first time. It’s Yuuri’s fault; he’s holding back. As they prepare to try again, he and Viktor lock eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri says, blushing so furiously that Viktor can see it even through the reflections on his helmet. Then they’re in.

A bench under a cherry tree, a hail of pink blossoms; snowy lampposts in the darkness as seen from the second floor window; a shop with signs that he can and can’t read at the same time; a man’s hand opening a car door, a dog and a rocking chair, the crunchy rice at the bottom of the pot, the taste of sea salt on the air…

Viktor’s face, everywhere. More Viktor faces than he thought could ever fit in one bedroom. Posters, magazine clippings... is that a pillow? Judging from his lower than normal eyeline, this must be a childhood bedroom- no, wait, it shifts and now the posters smolder down from every inch of discolored steel on one neatly divided half of the room. Viktor recognizes the room; he’s lived in one just like it. Basic training. Yuuri’s friend – Phichit, Yuuri’s brain supplies – sits on the bottom bunk and swoons dramatically, moaning, “Ohhhhh, Viktor…!” as Yuuri throws a pillow at him-

Viktor laughs so hard the neural handshake breaks. He can’t fucking believe this. This is incredible.

Yuuri makes a sound like a strangled cat and maybe it’s the ghost of the drift, maybe it’s just awkwardness so strong it transcends time and space, but Viktor can _feel_ the soul-crushing embarrassment from several feet away. He should… he should probably stop laughing now. They’ve only just met and he’s being extremely rude. But… oh God, where did Yuuri even _get_ a pillow? Viktor doubles over. He can’t remember the last time he laughed like this.

“Vitya, what the hell are you doing?!” Yakov shouts through the radio.

“I… I’m sorry…” Viktor gasps, ribs aching in protest, because there’s no way he’s going to explain this. Poor, sweet, adorable Yuuri looks like he might actually burst into flames. Viktor is taking this to his grave, but that could be right now for all he cares. He can’t breathe and his eyes are watering and this is the best thing that has ever happened to him.

**Author's Note:**

> Jaeger names are really, really dumb, you guys. Some actual canon names: Diablo Intercept, Brawler Yukon, Hydra Corinthian, Mammoth Apostle
> 
> Thank you to Mayra for beta-ing! She only tried to convince me to include the phrase "metallic dong" once, and I admire that.
> 
> Hit me up at http://caecilius-est-pater.tumblr.com/


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